DISPUTED LOVE
DISPUTED LOVE
Margaret Carr
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available
This eBook published by AudioGO Ltd, Bath, 2012
Published by arrangement with the Author
Epub ISBN 9781445829548
U.K. Hardcover ISBN 978 1 405 64546 1
U.K. Softcover ISBN 978 1 405 64547 8
Copyright © Margaret Carr, 1999
All rights reserved.
Cover illustration © iStockphoto.com
CHAPTER ONE
Isabelle Mendes’ hands clenched the steering-wheel. Her brown eyes narrowed in concentration as she strained to find the road through the ever thickening snow. She and Jack Carlton, her small charge, had left London that morning in a fine drizzle of rain. The weather had worsened the farther north they came, until here in the high hills of North Northumberland the conditions were the worst she had ever encountered.
‘Where are we, Belle?’ the tired voice of the little boy piped up from the back seat.
He had been very good and slept for most of the long journey. Belle gave an unhappy sigh. She had been his nanny from the day he was born three and a half years ago and he was like her own child but now she must hand him over to a father he had never seen.
‘We’re nearly at your daddy’s house now, sweetheart.’
‘I can’t see anything,’ he complained.
‘Well, that’s because the snow has covered everything up.’
‘Has it covered my daddy up as well?’ he asked in a timorous voice.
‘No, dear, your daddy will be watching out for us.’
He fell quiet again and Belle glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Nearly six o’clock, she felt as though it had been dark for hours. Straining forward against the seat-belt she stared ahead but saw nothing except an occasional glint of light from an odd cottage or farmhouse.
Kathleen Carlton, Jack’s mother, had been killed in a street accident three weeks before and, much to Belle’s disgust, Jeffrey Carlton, her employer’s estranged husband and Jack’s father, hadn’t even bothered to turn up for the funeral. Later, she had been informed by the solicitor that Mr Carlton was incapacitated at the moment and had requested that someone bring his son north. There were no relatives anyone knew of. The cleaning staff had been paid off, the house stripped and put up for sale. There was only herself left. The solicitor’s clerk had offered his services but Belle would not consider a stranger and there was always the chance that Jack’s father, unused to small children, might agree to keep her on.
They couldn’t be far from their destination now. It was some time since they had passed another vehicle on this lonely stretch of road and Belle felt as though this whole journey had been one long nightmare. What if they were stranded here? When, if ever, would they be rescued? Forget it, she warned herself. Think positive. You are going to find this dratted place and when you do Jack’s father is going to be overwhelmed with relief. The car headlights picked out the flash of a signpost, TODWICK 3 miles. Thank heavens, she sighed.
She caught a glimpse of her anxious face in the driving mirror and screwed up her nose. She was all dark shadows and hollows, with her auburn hair dragged back in a plait. Her olive skin, for which she had to thank her Portuguese father, from which all traces of make-up had been erased, was drawn over classic bones.
What a mess, she thought. She wasn’t going to impress Jeffrey Carlton looking like this. She would give herself a quick touch of lipstick and push a few more pins into her hair when they stopped, she consoled herself.
CHAPTER TWO
The snow had been falling on the hard ground for the past two hours and was deep enough, but now they hit a really rough patch where it had blown in from the open moor to form drifts across the road. They nestled like monstrous cushions against stone walls and reached back over more than half the width of the road. The land fell away over steep crags on the left verge and Belle was shy of fighting her way through the uneven snow. She stopped the car after deciding to get out and judge the situation from the outside.
‘Where are you going, Belle?’ Jack’s small voice wobbled from the rear of the car.
‘It’s all right, Jack,’ she soothed. ‘I’m only getting out to look at the car’s wheels.’
‘What’s wrong with the wheels?’
‘They might have got stuck so I’m going to check.’
‘Oh!’
She could hear his voice chattering on as, leaving the door open to give him more confidence, she edged around the front of the car and tested the depth of the drift with her foot. Even at the side of the drift the snow went over the top of her boot. She pulled back, shivering, as the snow melted down her leg. Then she judged the width of the car and decided that if she was very careful they might just make it past.
Biting down hard on her lip she climbed back into the car and eased carefully forward.
‘Are the wheels all right now?’ Jack asked.
She assured him that they were, with a sigh of relief, and they drove on a few more yards. They took a sharp right hand bend and came to a bridge surrounded by trees.
The road was virtually clear here and it was while they struggled to climb the snow-covered hill on the other side of the bridge that they came to grief.
Without warning the car lost its grip on an icy patch of road and slid backward into a ditch.
‘What happened, Belle?’ an excited Jack cried when he realised his eyes were level with the road. ‘I’m in a hole.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ Belle moaned.
She tried to open the door but it was stuck tight against the sides of the ditch. She had a momentary sense of panic, then Jack’s laughter dispelled it as he talked excitedly.
‘Look, Belle, it’s like a snow house.’
‘Well then, let’s play polar bears. First we must get you out of your harness,’ she said, loosening her own seat-belt and turning to lean over the back of the seat.
All fingers and thumbs, they managed between them to release and remove the straps that held him, and Belle half-lifted, half-pulled him over the seats and into the front of the car. Now she rolled down the window, the bottom of which was level with the ground.
‘Now, then, Jack bear, I want you to climb out of your snow house because we are going hunting.’
He was giggling as Belle rolled him out of the window then climbed out after him. She got to her feet feeling rather ridiculous and rubbed the snow from their clothes.
‘Come on, young bear, we have a way to go.’
She smiled down at him. Kathleen Carlton had never been a mother to him, leaving Belle in total charge and Belle’s devotion to him was her only reason for being in this terrible place. They breasted the brow of the hill and there was the village lying below them in the valley like a jewelled pin cushion.
‘Look, Jack, that’s where we are going.’
Belle laughed with relief.
‘Can we go back for the car now? I’m tired.’
‘How about a piggy back?’
‘Oh, yes, please.’
Belle bent down and let the little boy climb up on to her back.
‘Hang on now.’
‘It’s awful dark, isn’t it?’ he asked timidly.
‘That’s because the moon is shy. She’s hiding behind the clouds. But look at all the lights in the village. One of those lights will be your father’s.’
‘Which one?’
‘I don’t know, sweetheart.’
‘Will Daddy know me, Belle?’
‘Of course he will.’
A terrible pain shot through Belle’s heart for his mother had cleaned out of her life everything pertaining to her husband. Not the smallest possession or p
hotograph remained to convince a small boy that he did indeed have a father, somewhere. Small arms gripped tight around her neck threatening to choke her as she stumbled into the village. A public house was lit up halfway along the street. Gently she set the tired tot on to his feet, opened the top of her anorak for more breathing space, then, taking hold of his hand, she led him into the bar.
It was full of Saturday night revellers, so she rejected the idea of pushing forward to question the landlord and instead touched the shoulder of the man nearest to her.
‘Excuse me, could you give me directions to Windward Cottage, please?’
‘Sorry, love, I don’t belong to the place but Mac here does, don’t you, mate? This little lass here is asking for somewhere called Windward Cottage.’
A gangly young man with a warm smile and bracken-coloured hair pushed through his friends to join her.
‘You looking for Jeffrey Carlton?’
‘Yes, can you help me?’ she shouted above the din.
He indicated that they should move out into the passage.
‘That’s better,’ he said, once the door was closed behind them. ‘The place you want is about one and a half miles out of the village, but it will be a wonder if it’s not blocked off tonight. I take it you’re driving.’
Belle shook her head.
‘We had to abandon the car on the other side of the hill.’
She pulled Jack in close to her legs.
‘Good heavens have you walked down with the boy?’
He hunkered down to Jack’s level.
‘Hello, young man. What do you say to a nice hot drink and a piece of pie?’
‘Yes, please,’ Jack whispered into Belle’s trousers.
‘The name’s Duncan MacDonald,’ he introduced himself, ‘but people around here call me Mac. I’m the local vet and the managers of this place are good friends of mine.’
‘Isabelle Mendes.’
She offered her hand, and after shaking it, he led her into the private kitchen at the back of the bar. A plump, middle-aged woman welcomed them in and sat them before an open fire range and plied them with hot tea and game pie. Belle’s heart had sunk to her boots when she heard that their destination was a farther one and a half miles. Her feet in their fashion boots were already soaking wet and numb. She was so tired she didn’t think she could walk another step, never mind carry Jack.
Where was Jeffrey Carlton? Why wasn’t he here? Was he going to be as careless of his son’s welfare as he had been of his wife’s? Belle had abandoned all their luggage in the Mini and now she was near to tears.
The kitchen was full of bustling activity and the man who had rescued them was talking to their hostess. Jack had finished his drink and was curled up in the armchair, fast asleep. Mac plonked himself down on the settle beside her.
‘He’s blocked in all right. Not to worry though.’
He smiled down into her face.
‘I rang a local farmer who’s out with a plough on his tractor clearing farm roads. His wife said he had a mobile phone with him so she will give him a ring and get him to do the Windward road next. Ben and Cliff, the men I was with in the bar, have offered to go up and see what they can do about your car.’
Belle thanked him.
‘Look,’ he said, concern written across his face, ‘I know it’s none of my business, but what are you doing going up to Carlton’s place anyway?’
‘This is Jeffrey Carlton’s son, Jack. His mother was killed in a road accident three weeks ago. I’ve looked after him since he was born but now I’m under instructions to bring him here.’
The vet looked surprised.
‘I thought the little lad was your own. He has the same colouring and a look of you about him.’
‘He feels like my own.’ She sighed. ‘Do you know Mr Carlton? Will he be good to Jack? There’s no way I’ll leave him until I’m satisfied that he’ll be all right.’
‘As to that, I can’t say,’ Mac replied, sounding reluctant to express any opinion. ‘My job’s with animals not children.’
He watched her in silence for a while then with a rueful smile he said, ‘I’ll try to be unbiased, but you see, I don’t like the man. He came here just over four years ago, in a big car, with pigskin luggage. Apparently he was a well-known sculptor. He stayed here at the pub, had lots of friends and gave regular parties. He was very popular with the women, drank too much and generally behaved much as arty people the world over. But one thing he didn’t do was work.’
He ran a hand around the back of his neck as he continued.
‘After a couple of years the money began to run out. We assumed this because the parties ceased and few of his old friends visited anymore. Eventually he ran up quite a substantial bill behind the bar and the Jobsons, Nan and Eric, felt they had to say something. Next morning he and the car and the pigskin luggage had gone. His debts had all been cleared so nobody thought anymore about it.
‘It was an old local chap called Tom Penny who came into the village some weeks later, all of a dither, to say that the sculptor chap from The Ugly Duckling was now the tenant of Windward Cottage. No-one would believe him because the cottage hadn’t been lived in for years on account of the last tenant having murdered his wife there. Anyway, it turned out to be true and it was said around the village that he was drinking himself to death because of a love affair that had gone wrong. He’s rarely seen around here these days and goes into town for anything he needs. He’s an odd devil though, keeps himself very much to himself, uncommunicative and unfriendly.’
‘What am I going to do?’ Belle moaned, really distressed now.
‘Look, I’m sorry to have upset you but it’s better you know. If I was you, when your car’s free, I would take that little boy and yourself off somewhere else. Doesn’t he have any other relatives he could go to?’
‘No. Mr Carlton is the boy’s legal guardian. I’m powerless to do anything but stay with him, if I can.’
‘I wouldn’t do that.’
‘I must.’
They sat in silence until the back door slammed open and Mac’s friends, Ben and Cliff, stood there covered in snow.
‘Blimey, love, it’ll take a crane to get that car out of yon ditch,’ Ben said directly to Belle. ‘But I got your stuff out the back,’ he added, hauling two cases and three bags over the threshold.
‘Thank you very much,’ she said, coming forward to claim her luggage.
Jack, wakened by the slam of the back door, sat up and rubbed his eyes.
‘Belle, are we at my daddy’s house?’
She hurried over to him.
‘No, darling, not yet.’
‘Can we go now then?’ the small child’s voice requested.
‘No, it’s too dark and cold outside,’ she said, picking him up and cuddling him. ‘A tractor is going to dig a way through the snow for us,’ she said, avoiding Mac’s eyes. ‘Is there a taxi that will take me up there?’
‘No,’ he said, a grim expression on his face. ‘If you must go, then I will take you up.’
He turned away and went off to the bar. When he came back he was carrying a glass in each hand.
‘Here,’ he said offering her one, ‘it’s brandy. You will need something fortifying in you before this night’s through.’
He sat back down on the settle and took a drink, just as the landlord came into the kitchen.
‘If you’re waiting to escort this young lady,’ he said smiling at Belle, ‘then the road is as clear as it’s going to get tonight.’
‘Right, thanks, Eric,’ Mac replied, his eyes never leaving Belle’s face.
When Belle and Jack were wrapped up warm once again Mac ushered them out into the night. A large, four-wheel drive was standing at the roadside and he helped them in before loading the luggage into the back. Then he climbed in beside them and started the engine.
‘What am I doing?’ Belle whispered softly.
‘Staying with the boy. He’ll need you,’ he answered.
She held Jack so tight he squirmed in her arms. They drove to the end of the street where the road divided.
‘That way takes you to Newcastle and it’s the way you should have come down if you hadn’t been lost. It’s always kept open.’
They turned in the opposite direction along a road that had been roughly cleared the width of one car. Belle stared out of the window at the miles of undulating white with only the odd black tree to break the monotony and couldn’t help but compare it with the brightness of Portugal where she had grown up. She would hate living here, yet if it was what she must do to keep Jack happy, then that was what she would do.
‘It’s just up here on the right,’ Mac’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘There, see the light?’
They travelled over some rough snow then in through a gate.
‘If you ever need help of any kind, if you want to leave at short notice, leave a message under a stone by the gate. Tom comes past here every day on his way to work and he’ll bring it down to me.’
She nodded gratefully as he backed the Land-Rover into the cleared area of the narrow yard at the back of the cottage and cut the engine. Jack peered cautiously through the window.
‘Is that my daddy?’
A tall man stood silhouetted in the lit doorway. His eyes shone like a cat’s in the flash of the headlights. He had a plaster cast on his left leg and was leaning on a crutch. Mac heaved a sigh and jumped out, slamming the door behind him. He was pulling her cases from the back of the vehicle as Belle climbed out and lifted Jack down in her arms.
Mac cast her an I-told-you-so look as the man in the doorway neither moved nor spoke. Mac placed her cases at her feet then jumped back into the Land-Rover and started the engine. Belle watched as his tail lights disappeared. She had never felt so alone in her life.
CHAPTER THREE
The man she assumed was Jeffrey Carlton held out his hand towards the boy, and said to Belle, ‘You’ll have to bring the luggage in yourself, I’m afraid.’
Belle set Jack down on his now wobbly legs and encouraged him with a big smile to go forward. He wasn’t without courage but Belle felt his indecision and willed the man who was his father to say something. But Jeffrey Carlton remained silent and while Jack still hesitated, he turned and hobbled back into the cottage. Belle picked up the two cases and crossed the yard to the cottage with Jack stumbling along in her wake. Dropping the cases just inside the kitchen door, she sat Jack on a stuffed rocking-chair, while she went out for the rest of the bags.
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